(WOW THIS IS OLD AND TERRIBAD BUT WHATEVER)
(what even is going on with the rhyming pattern though...)
Those eerie February mornings;
when the sky is soft and silver grey
and muffled footsteps chase the night away,
and thousands of frozen feathers adorn
the window sill,
and I look out, and all is still.
I gaze upon the bone bare trees;
when lines of silver lace the ground
and air is crisp, without a sound,
and the pale gold sun rises
over the hill,
and I look out, and all is still.
Then suddenly, the ground is gold
and bird song fills the open air.
A myriad of tunes are there,
and clouds are stained a pearly pink
and darkness kill,
and I look out, and all is still.
YOU ARE READING
Poem dump
PoetryA bunch of poems about things. Sometimes sciency things, because I sure love SCIENCE.
